


Not an Urban Legend After All

by KateKintail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Goose-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: During his last hunt before heading off to college, Sam gets an unexpected visit from a goose.





	Not an Urban Legend After All

**Author's Note:**

> This is a soulmate AU where one person finds a goose who leads them to the other person. The difficulty comes in not being mauled by a goose

Sam sat in the backseat of the Impala, the car he'd grown up in. He'd graduated from a tiny baby in a car seat to a toddler in a booster seat to a sprawling teen clearly defining which side was his and which was his brother's. They'd had motels, apartments, even a house one time. But those had changed practically every year—sometimes more often—and this car had been there through all the changes. It was the one constant in Sam Winchester's life.

And now Sam was riding in it for the second-to-last time. This was the last time he'd be heading out on a hunt with his dad and brother. This was the last time he'd have to load a shotgun with silver bullets and provide backup. This was the last time he'd have to participate in shooting a guy who had even worse luck than Sam did and had been bitten by a werewolf. This was the last time Sam would feel a little sick to his stomach, feeling so out of place in this world of hunting things, even though he'd grown up in it and it was all he knew. This was the last time... his dad and brother just didn't know it yet.

Sam watched the world go past outside the car window in blurs of light-colored houses and green trees. There were sidewalks with dog walkers and joggers, kids on bicycles, squirrels starting to hide acorns, birds dipping from tree branch to outside bird feeders and back up again to safety. 

To this day, Sam could never be sure what had triggered it. One second he was looking out the window at a red, male Cardinal helping himself to sunflower seeds and the next second he had a Canadian Goose in the backseat beside him. It flapped its giant wings and honked so loudly everyone in the car immediately took notice. 

“What's with the goose?” Dean asked from the front passenger side. He had an arm up, bent at the elbow, to shield his face from the flailing wings.

Sam didn't know how to answer. He didn't know where it had come from. He didn't know why it was there. He didn't know how to keep from being pecked to death by it. He supposed he could try to shoot it, but the way it was moving around, lunging at him and pulling back again in an aggressive sort of dance, Sam was scared he might miss and hit his dad or brother instead. On the other hand... that might not be so bad. A trip to the hospital instead of a hunt might be the perfect last night. Well, maybe not so perfect for anyone the werewolf might encounter tonight. 

“Sammy?!”

“I don't know!” Sam shouted over the sound of flapping wings and angry squawks. “It just suddenly appeared—like a magic spell or something!”

“I hate witches,” Dean muttered under his breath. 

John Winchester pulled the car over to the side of the road. Sam was familiar with this tactic. Whenever he or Dean were arguing or something got spilled, John would pull over and deal with it by sticking his head into the backseat and yelling at the top of his voice until one of his sons fixed the mess. 

This time, though, Sam had no idea how he was supposed to fix this. The goose really had just simply appeared. And if Sam could get rid of it, he would have done so already. 

Instead of yelling, though, Dad just stared at the goose—not angrily but with some visible measure of wonder. “I'll be damned,” he mumbled. “I heard the stories, of course. Bobby even told me about a goose he once saw. But who would have believed these were actually real and not just another urban legend?”

“Dad? What's going on?” Dean prompted, looking to their dad as always for wisdom and guidance. 

John chuckled and rubbed the stubble covering his chin in a thoughtful sort of way. “Looks like Sam'mys got himself a soulmate goose.” 

Having never heard of such a thing before, Sam didn't much appreciate this explanation, especially not as he leaned to the side, just missing a violent peck aimed at his upper arm. 

“Come again?” Dean asked. 

“A soulmate goose. They're said to arrive at an important time in someone's life and lead them to their soulmate, the person they're meant to be with. I've never seen one in person before, but they're said to just appear out of nowhere and vanish just as mysteriously as soon as the two people find each other and acknowledge their connection.” 

'An important time in someone's life.' That phrase echoed in Sam's mind. Neither his dad nor his brother knew about Stanford yet. They didn't know Sam had an acceptance letter and full ride scholarship to college. They didn't know he had a bus ticket stashed under his mattress with a scheduled departure of tomorrow. They didn't know that as soon as Sam was out of there, he was never coming back. He would never be part of this world again. He would get a good education, land a decent job, and buy a nice house somewhere that didn't have four wheels and didn't smell like takeout. Sam would be blissfully normal for once. Apparently, too, he was going to find his soulmate. 

“Sounds like maybe you'll find your soulmate tonight,” Dean teased from the front seat. Then he seemed to get an idea and turned right around as well. “Sammy! Maybe your soulmate is the werewolf we're hunting!”

Sam supposed that was possible, but he didn't much like the idea. He also didn't want Dean to be right about anything that had to do with him. “I don't think so,” Sam said flatly. He was trying for a tone that told Dean not to mess with him, but Dean just smirked, completely unaffected. 

The goose seemed to take no notice in their conversation. It preened a little and stared at Sam as if expecting him to be able to start the car and carry on with what they were doing when it had appeared. But there was no telling John Winchester to do anything. The best they could do was ask for his expertise. 

And that's just what Dean did. “What are we going to do on a hunt with that thing?” 

Their dad made a thoughtful face, staring into the bird's beady black eyes. Everyone waited for the supposedly Great John Winchester to make his decision. “We're burning daylight here, boys. There isn't enough time to drive Sam back home and get to the werewolf before sunset. If we don't stop him, someone else could die tonight. We're not giving up on a hunt just because of a goose. Sam, you keep it under control, you hear?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Sam replied obediently. That was a phrase he wasn't going to miss when he was at Stanford, that was for sure. He was going to be too busy studying and not hunting things to miss any of this. He was moving on with his life and never looking back. 

The goose's beak made contact with his arm so hard and so suddenly Sam gasped. That was going to  
leave a bruise tomorrow for sure. Assuming he made it to tomorrow. This goose was a heck of a lot more violent than Sam would have expected. 

Dean chuckled. “Can you handle the little bird, Sammy? Need me to come back there and save you?” He lifted his knife, the afternoon sun glinting on the blade as he turned it. “Need me to get rid of it for you?” 

Sam recoiled. “You're not killing my soulmate goose!” 

Dean turned back around in his seat with a shrug. “Wasn't going to kill it. I just meant we could dump it out of the car and do some hunting, then we could pick it back up at the end of the hunt. Or maybe it would catch up to us by the time we were done? How's it supposed to work exactly, Dad?” 

“There's some conflicting lore, and I've never actually seen one before, so I'm not sure,” said John Winchester, who always knew everything. “But I don't think it's going to let Sam abandon it. If it found him once, it'll find him again just as easily.” 

The goose honked in agreement then flapped its wings, a disruptive action at the best of times, but trapped in the small space of the car, it was even worse. Sam got the edge of the wing right in his face and his dad was pushed forward into the steering wheel. 

Dean just laughed. “We'll never know if we don't try.” With that, he threw his door open, marched around the car, opened the door on the goose side of the car, grabbed the mess of angry feathers around its middle, and flung it out of the car. He shut the door and walked back to his seat, dramatically brushing his hands off at the job well done. 

Sam felt a sinking feeling in his chest the second the goose was gone. His dad started the car and Sam considered throwing himself out before the Impala picked up speed. He couldn't just leave the goose back there, even if the legend wasn't true. It had come to him. He was responsible for it. “Dad... stop the... the car,” Sam wheezed, suddenly unable to speak, to breathe. His goose... his soulmate goose… was gone...

Until it wasn't. Less than a minute down the road, the goose reappeared in the backseat. Sam was so relieved he reached out to hug it, and it bit him hard on the ear. Sam practically shrieked in surprise. Dean cracked up. “Interesting,” their dad muttered, thoughtfully. “How does it do that?” 

Sam didn't care how it did what it did. He was just glad it had come to him. Somewhere out there was his soulmate, his destiny, and this goose was going to lead him to it. This was all his. Not his dad's. Not Dean's. This was his life finally starting. 

“All right. Grab your stuff.” 

So as long as Sam made it through one more hunt. 

Just one more. 

With a goose in tow. 

His dad added, “Sam stays in the car.” 

And that was the final word on that. Sam didn't even care. He was busy enough fending off the goose attack. He didn't really want to go hunt a werewolf anyway. So he worked on keeping the feathery menace at arm's reach as he watched his only two living family members head from the car and walk up to what looked like a perfectly normal townhouse. 

“Honk!” 

“Honk yourself,” Sam replied. He kept an eye on the house, looking out for trouble. But there wasn't even a shadow or a ripple in the curtains to indicate any sort of movement inside. So he waited. And waited some more. And waited even more. 

After a while, he started getting hungry. He checked his duffle bag, always packed ready for a hunt of any kind, and found a granola bar. He pulled back the wrapper, broke it in half, and offered one half to the goose. “Want a bite?” The goose looked at him like he was crazy and then bit his forearm instead. “Ah! Okay, okay. Either you're not hungry or soulmate geese don't need to eat food.” That was something else to ask his dad about.

Assuming he ever saw his dad again. What was taking so long? This wasn't their first time hunting a werewolf. If the guy wasn't home, then they'd be back immediately. If the guy was home, they'd get rid of him and then head back to the car. It shouldn't have taken more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes. 

Sam checked his watch. It had been almost an hour. So where the hell were they? 

That same sick feeling started to fill his stomach. It started as a bad feeling, progressed to a worry, and culminated with dread. 

Grabbing his sawed-off shotgun and making sure he had at least three knives on his person, he defied the orders of the Great John Winchester and stormed up to the house.

The door had been forced open and remained ajar, hanging from only its top hinge. Sam went in, shoulder-first, sawed-off raised. He was about to call out to Dean and his dad, then he decided against it. If the werewolf had done something to them, it would be better not to let it know he was there. 

“Honk!”

Sam cringed. So much for that plan. Apparently his goose had either followed him in or had appeared just behind him Sam heard heavy footsteps upstairs. Boots? Figuring the element of surprise was already lost, he yelled out, “Dean? Dad?”

The reply came in the form of a loud crash like a chair and a body hitting the floor. Shit. That couldn’t be good.

After a quick look around, Sam located the stairs and raced up them two at a time with a knife in one hand and, apparently, a goose on his heels. A long, creepy hallway stretched out before him, the only open doorway at the far end. Sam headed there first, knowing any one of the doors could open at any second. If he was ambushed, he wouldn't be able to help his family, assuming they were actually in trouble. 

“Honk!” the goose announced again, snapping at the backs of Sam's legs, as if encouraging him to move more quickly than he already was. Sam heard a muffled yell and another loud crash. And then Sam heard a sound that chilled him: a gunshot. 

Sam had his sawed-off up at once, which turned out to be good timing because a towering figure stalked out of the open doorway with a handgun. He recognized the man at once from the driver's license photo he'd pulled up earlier on the computer. Their suspect was supposed to be some normal guy apart from the unfortunate changing into a werewolf thing that would happen around every full moon. Sam had to remind himself that this guy wasn't normal. He was a monster. Wasn't he? 

For a moment, Sam worried that this was just a guy protecting his home from what he thought was just a home invasion. What would Sam think if he were just at home, minding his own business, when Dean and his dad stormed in? But then a sick smile spread across the man's face. The sound of a low, chilling growl filled the hallway, making Sam shiver. Yeah, this guy definitely wasn't innocent. He'd have to be stopped. 

Finding himself with a gun aimed at him, Sam tried to go through his options. If he fired, so would this guy. If he put his gun down, the guy would probably fire anyway. If he tried to talk the man down from this, there might be a slight chance of success. But the longer they talked, the closer to subset they got, and there was absolutely no reasoning with a werewolf. And all the while, Dean or Dad or both were in that room potentially bleeding to death. As Sam tried to formulate a working plan, the goose took off. Somehow, it managed to take flight in the small space. It charged at the man who, surprised to have an angry goose headed straight at him, held his hands up to protect his face. 

The instant the gun was no longer pointing at him, Sam took the opportunity to fire. After enduring so many of the Great John Winchester's training sessions, Sam's aim was impeccable. The man went down at once, a silver bullet through his forehead. 

As the goose proceeded to peck at the werewolf's leg, Sam raced past, toward the far room. 

Dad wasn't anywhere in sight, but Dean was. Sam's brother lay on his side, tied to a half-broken chair, gagged. “Dean!” Sam was terrified that his brother had been shot. If Dean had been killed or hurt significantly, there was no way Sam would be able to leave for Stanford. But, on top of that, he would be devastated. No matter how much he hated his life, he still loved Dean. He couldn't lose his big brother. “Dean?”

Dean's chest rose with a breath and then gave a muffled 'get me out of here' grunt. He might be injured, but he wasn't dead. Sam was grateful for that. 

With his knife, Sam cut the tight ropes that bound Dean's hands together at the wrists and then the ones that held him to the chair. He eased Dean's body from the broken chair and was relieved to feel not only a strong pulse but Dean moving on his own. Sam pulled the gag off him. He didn't see any blood. “Did he shoot you?” 

Dean shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at the far wall. “Shot at me but missed. He was a sadistic bastard, got the jump on us both. Knocked Dad out cold downstairs. Started to interrogate me, but when he heard you coming, he decided to just get rid of me. Luckily, he had no aim.” 

“Luckily, I have a goose.” Sam smiled to himself. 

“Leave it... to a werewolf... to be Ted Bundy meets H. H. Holmes.” 

Sam got the reference to the famous serial killers, but the mention put him on edge even more than he already was. He glanced over at the man's body, lying motionless in the hallway. Still dead. Definitely dead. Not coming back.

He held his hand out and helped Dean up to his feet. Dean seemed wobbly one he was up, so Sam kept his arm around Dean. “You're not shot, but you're not okay.”

“He was playing with me. Hit me a couple more times than I'd have liked. Mostly my ribs... and my head. But I'll live. Let's go find Dad.” 

Slowly, they headed down the stairs, the goose following close behind, mercifully without the pecks to Sam’s calves. John Winchester was just coming to as they found him on the kitchen floor. He put a hand to his head. Sam lead Dean to a kitchen chair, and Dean used the back to keep himself upright. Sam opened the freezer for something he could give his dad to use as an ice pack, and found a freezer full of what appeared to be harvested organs in neat little Ziploc baggies. Baggies _labeled_ with human names and dates ranging back years. They made Sam a little sick to see and once again glad that he was making this his last ever hunt. There were some truly horrible things happening in this world, and he was going to be glad to no longer find himself in the middle of them. Sam grabbed a bag of frozen carrots.

Sam held it to his father's head. The Great John Winchester batted it away at first, but Sam was insistent. Finally, his father took the bag and got up with several grunts and groans but also determination. “I don't have time for a little headache. Where is the bastard now?”

“Dead upstairs,” Sam explained. 

Their dad looked skeptical. “Sammy took him out on his own,” Dean insisted. 

“Not on my own. I had help from the goose.” Sam beamed at the goose—at _his_ goose. It wandered over to him now, and Sam reached down to pet it like a dog. It snapped at his hand instead. 

The three Winchesters and the goose headed back to the Impala. Perhaps the hunt hadn't been as successful as any of them had expected, but they had survived and stopped a terrible murderer. Not bad at all for Sam's last hunt.

*

Sam shivered. He'd been waiting in line outside the bus station office for more than an hour now to talk to someone after he'd been told he wasn't allowed to board his bus. There was another one leaving in a couple hours, though, so he still had time. Problem was, the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. It was still August, but apparently this part of New England wasn't waiting around for September.

“But what if I buy it its own seat?” Sam asked the guy at the Greyhound bus ticket counter. A thick piece of Plexiglas separated the two of them, and the man was using it as an excuse to not hear a word Sam was saying. Sam knocked on the Plexiglas, making the man look up from his computer and point to a sign in the bottom corner of the window that read: PLEASE DO NOT KNOCK ON GLASS. 

Sam held his hands up in apology to show he wasn't going to do that again. “I promise he won't be any trouble,” Sam said, pointing to the goose that was repeatedly biting his leg. It wasn't any more painful than most of the injuries he's sustained while hunting, but the goose hardly looked harmless like this. The man at the counter did not look fooled. He pointed to the opposite corner of the window at another sign, this one reading in a darker, bolder font: NO SOULMATE GEESE ALLOWED. NO EXCEPTIONS. 

Sam sighed. He had a little money set aside for meals and books, but the bus ticket had cost him a good chunk of change. He'd have to figure out a different way to get to California—a way that allowed soulmate geese, because this thing was going to follow him wherever he went now. “Well, if that's the case, can I at least get a refund for the ticket I already bought? I bought it before I even knew what a soulmate goose was.” The man rolled his eyes and pointed upward. Sam's eyes trailed upward until he spotted a giant sign above the ticket counter in giant red letters spelling out plainly: ABSOLUTELY NO REFUNDS.

Sam sighed. He should have known. Sam Winchester didn't get to have normal. Apparently, he didn't get to have anything. Dejectedly, he shouldered his duffle bag that was full of everything he owned in the world that couldn't be considered a weapon and shuffled out of line. 

“Honk!” Surprised to hear a honk that wasn't from his goose, Sam looked over his shoulder to see the Impala idling by the curb. At first, Sam thought maybe he was seeing things. He'd left home almost three hours ago and hadn't even told them how he was getting to Stanford. How could one of them have found him? Maybe it was someone else's black, 1967 Chevy Impala? 

But then he saw Dean leaning over from the driver's side, so he could look out the passenger side window and be seen in return. He spotted Sam and waved him over. Not knowing what else to do, and curious about what Dean could be doing here, Sam headed over. He told himself that no matter what Dean said, Sam wasn't going back home. He was going to get to Stanford, even if he had to hitchhike or even find a job to pay for his own car and drive himself there. So what if that meant starting the semester late? He couldn't go back home. He couldn't go back to hunting or to Dad—not after all the screaming and yelling they'd done earlier when Sam had informed his family about leaving for college. 

Sam reached the car as Dean was getting out. He was in a no parking zone, but he obviously didn't care. Sam's big brother hadn't been brought up to follow rules like that. “Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, striding over to him. 

Sam opened with “I don't care what you say. I'm not going back” and moved on to turning his back on his brother and starting to walk away, though he knew he didn't have any place to go. 

“I know!” Dean called after him, making Sam pause and then look back over his shoulder again. Dean stood there, looking sad and alone and just about as dejected as Sam felt. He hugged his arms to his chest, and not because of the early autumn chill in the air. “I came to give you a ride to school.” 

Turning around, Sam looked confused. This wasn't like how Dean would drop him off at his elementary school before heading to the high school for his own classes. This was a drive clear across the country after which he'd leave his brother behind for months—likely for years... maybe even for forever. “Dean...”

“They won't let you on a bus because of the goose, right? So probably trains and planes and rental cars are out, too. What other option do you have?” He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes. “C'mon. I'm your big brother. I take care of you, remember? Let me do this for you.” 

And here he thought Dean and Dad hadn't understood. Maybe Dean understood more than Sam gave him credit for. 

“Okay,” Sam agreed finally. He stashed his duffle bag in the backseat of the car and the goose immediately climbed in after it. It got settled in, nice and comfortable on the side of the seat that was usually Sam's. Then it started snapping at the seat in front of it, as if impatient for them to get on the road, as if the reason for the delay hadn't been its fault in the first place. 

Sam got into the passenger seat and Dean got back in behind the wheel on the driver's side. He winced as he sat down, am arm around his middle. “Your ribs'll take a while to heal,” Sam told him. “You sure you don't want me to drive?” 

Dean laughed and turned the key in the ignition. “This baby's all mine.” Sam wondered if John had lent it to him or if Dean had just taken it and was planning to ask for forgiveness when he got back. As it turned out, Sam didn't really care. He was going to college after all. He was going to study hard. He was going to find his soulmate. And he was going to start fresh and make a life for himself. 

“Honk!” the goose announced, and Sam wondered if it wasn't psychic. It knew what was in his heart, after all. It made sense that the goose might be able to know what was in his mind too. 

It was then that Sam noticed a small stack of books and photocopied pages. He recognized the signs of pre-hunt research right away, and his hand shot for the door handle. This had all been a ruse to lure him into the car and take him back. 

“Calm down,” Dean said. Apparently Dean, too, could read his mind. “I found some info on soulmate geese. I thought you'd like to read it on the drive. Figured that if you were stuck with it for a while, you might as well know all you could about it.” 

Sam picked up one of the volumes and leafed through, finding a slip of paper marking the page where the section about soulmate geese began. “Thanks,” Sam whispered.

Dean gave a laugh. “Don't thank me yet. It's more than 3,000 miles to Stanford. You’ll be done with that in a third of the time.” Dean pulled away from the curb, having received no parking ticket for his antics, and headed for the highway. 

Sam glanced at the goose in the backseat. It looked peaceful right now, but he knew enough already not to underestimate it; it had an angry streak. He wondered how many others were going to show up at college with geese. And he wondered how long it would take his to lead him to his soulmate; not too long, he hoped. In the meantime, he thought he might name it. The goose looked like a Brady to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written during NaNoWriMo 2018.


End file.
